“THE GLARE”

Star (Christchurch), Issue 18008, 19 November 1926, Page 14

“THE GLARE”

“ STAR’S ” NEW SERIAL iiiiiiiiiiitiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiinii

illlilllllllillllllllllllllllllllllllllll By

CARLTON DAWE.

CHAPTE'fe -XII.— (Continued.) Then, like a facile gossip, he began to point out the most, notorious of those who were present, embellishing his remarks with some piquant anecdote respecting the person under discussion. “ See that woman who has just come in. Know who she is?” “ No.” “ Esme Dundas. The chap with her is Whinstone the author.” “ Acclaimed by the Press as the new Congreve.” “I think even Congreve might blush at thought of the connection, and he couldn’t have suffered much from that sort of affliction. A little while ago the chorus girl was the chief attraction of the theatre, but she’s dying a painful death, suffocated by the filth this fellow and his kind are shovelling on her. Ultra-modernists, they call themselves, or young Greeks, I don’t know which. Everything clean and decent is voted out of date, the language of the gutter is now recognised as the true expression of power and genius. Modernism seeks and finds its inspiration in cocktails -and jazz. That fellow and his kind are degrading the theatre to the level of a stews, and will soon be choosing all their puppets from the subjects of Bera and Birsha—unless the public rises in wrath and annihilates them. Truly a perverse and crooked generation.” “ My dear Wrex, TVI no idea you were such a stern moralist.” “ I'd like to cross-examine that chap on certain points.” he answered. “And the lady ! ” “ Oh, she’s a woman.” “And they’re never dangerous?” “ Theirs is a different sort of danger. It's the male vermin who makes me see red. Perhaps she’s merely seeking relaxation from a great disappointment. I suppose it would be called a great disappointment.” “What would be?” I’m woefully ignorant of these important social movements.” “ They say she was rather keen on Lord Marshalmead, who turned her down for a little milliner in Albemarle Street. Most pathetic. I suppose that’s why she suffers Whinstone and other abominations.” But Wallis Cargrave did not hear this added comment, for the blood had suddenly begun to thunder in his ears —was flashing in his eyes. This glib purveyor of scandal! He could have risen in his wrath and struck him. Had he really ever been friends with Wrexenham ? Was it possible that he could have known so little of the real man? A rattle of a man, a contemptible chronicler of small beer. A great disgust swept through him. Was it in this manner these noddescripts now spoke of Denise: made light of her name, subjected her to loathesome tittle-tattle? How quickly ill news travelled! A little milliner in Albemarle Street! Association with Marshalmead had already brought her to this. He had known it could do no other. That man with his glamour of rank and wealth—how he hated him! Yet he had thought the visit to this place might be productive of adventure. Little by little he had gleaned from Phyllis hints of suppers, dances, late hours; to fill in the untold part of the story needed no great stretch of imagination. That fear for Denise, who had so sorely oppressed him. was it to receive this cruel justification? Though he had slowly begun to realise that without the aid of a miracle she would never be his, enough of the big brother still stirred in him the necessity of protection. He owed it to her, to Phil; even to that vain, foolish old man whose vision was always turned inward on himself. What should he say to Wrexenham? To defend the little milliner of Albemarle Street might strain her need of defence; and he was not supposed to understand the illusion, or be- interested in it. Of what significance is the fate of one milliner, or a thousand? And then the suave tones of his companion's voice began to buzz once more in his ears. “Talk of the devil! By Jove, she looks stunning to-night.’ Looking round Cargrave was in time to see Denise and Marshalmead crossing the floor. Esme Dundas and Whinstone, who had risen from their seats, were beckoning to the newcomers, who immediately joined them. “Ah,” said the sardonic one, his mobile lips curling curiously,. Waliv could have smashed them; beaten them stiff and cold. ’ “ Is that .your little milliner of Albemarle Street?” he asked. “ The very same. What do you think of her?” “She is a friend of mine; and you are very wide of the mark concerning her.” Something prompted him to go over and speak, some curious, ill-defined sense of chivalry. Nor did he stay a moment to analyse the absurdity ot' this impulse. Had he done so he might have hesitated. For a moment Denise seemed embarrassed at sight of him; then she rose, holding out her hand, smiling a welcome. “Wally, how delightful! Do you know Miss Dundas? Lord Marshalmead, Mr Whinstone.” They all bowed rather stiffly. “ This is Mr Cargrave, oldest and best of friends.” Esme looked up under her brows at Whinstone, who was taking quick stock of this man with the square shoulders and aggressive chin. Marshalmead suggested that he should join their party. “Sorry,” he said; “I'm with a friend.” “ Oh, Wally,” mocked Denise. “ A man friend,” he added, feeling a fool, and deeply resenting the suggestive flippancy of her tone. Also, inis reading -Marshalmead's smile, which was one purely of indifference and good nature, he was attacked by a sudden mood of obstinate aggression which might have placed him in an even worse predicament had not Denise come to the rescue. The guests were taking the floor, the band having started a fox-trot. “ Come and dance this with me. Wally,” she said. Away they went, slowly winding their way through the crowd. “ Who's Mr Cargrave?” Esme Dundas purred, but loud enough for Marshalmead to hear, her, who, however, did not answer. “ A friend of Miss Leighley’s,” Whinstone replied, as only he knew how.

“He’s rather striking, don’t you think?” Me smiled, but did not answer. Esme had a quick eye for a fine man. Meanwhile Denise was saj r ing, “ This is a surprise, Wally. I’d no idea you patronised these frivolous resorts.” He told her how it came about: but he did not tell her that he had hoped, yet feared, to meet her. “And who’s Wrexenham?” “ A devil with the voice of a dove. One day he’s going to be the most plausable hangman that evier sat on the Bench.” She looked up at him in astonishment. “Never was I so near smashing a man without doing it.” “ Why?” “ The fellow has a tongue that curls round you like a serpent.” “Serpent—Eden. How some old families cling to tradition.” “ You find this Eden?” “ It's better than a back room, looking out on the night.” “ Denise! ” “ My dear Wally, don’t look so tragic —and don’t hold me quite so tight One must learn to take things as they are. After all, the Tree of Knowledge did grow inside Paradise, didn't it?” “ Denise.” he began once more. “There is not the least necessity to say it.” “ But you don’t really care for this sort of thing?” “ Why not?” “ You are passing beyond me.” “ Probably. lam leaving quite a lot behind.” “And the gain?” Incalculable.” “And the loss?” “ Negative. Are you satisfied, Mr Cross-Examiner?” “ I beg your pardon. If it wasn't you, Denise.” She laughed up at him, and-felt his grip tighten. “Still that big brother feeling?” “More so.” “Don’t let it worry 3*ou. old boy. Besides, this is the day of the big sister. Ah!” as the music stopped. “How quickly good things end. I’d no idea you could dance so well.” Clearly he did not understand her mood. But. had he ever understood her? Perplexing thought. This badinage, this light, foolish talk; was it the real expression of the rather tragic girl he had once known? Restless always, stretching out to the stars, ever in fierce revolt with destiny, he had thoxight of her as something big; a young amazon held down by necessity, yet for ever trying to break her bonds. And now, those bonds broken, she could do no more for herself than this; find nothing better than this flamboyant insincerity-. Where lay the blame; with whom? Naturally the man thought of the man, inconsiderate anger smouldering sullenly, ready to break in ominous flame. He hated hi try, hated that genial air of indifference ,to good or evil report. Her name, grafted to his, produced a fruit of bitter savour; a sort Of Dead Sea fruit repugnant to both mind and taste. lie hated him; muttered fierce oaths. These men, with their prescriptive right to immunity, how much longer were they going to be tolerated? He bowed stiffly as he returned her to the fold; had a vague idea that Esme Dundas was- showing her white teeth, almost wolf-like, but did not see the famous dramatist at all, which was not to the liking of the famous dramatist. But he did see Marshalmead, saw him in a strange unflattering light. The very ease of the man, the charm of his smile, was an offence. He even tried to think of him as old, but was more than a little dubious of success. No, there was not much consolation in that thought. Rather was there danger in the age. It carried weight, authority; could scarcely fail to impress exuberant youth.

Wrexenham received him with a quaint penetrating smile. If he felt any embarrassment he concealed it adr mirably. Occasionally a face, like language, pan conceal thought. In respect to both he was singularly gifted. Cargrave was not sure that the apology did not deepen the offence. But just then Wrexenham was not filling the scene; indeed, he was little more than one of the crowd. The leading characters of the drama were over there at another table, the parts assigned to them full of tragic possibilities. That they would play them ill he had never a doubt. Wrexenham’s cold calculating look followed him as he crossed the floor to the exit; a cold smile played round his cold lips. By Jove, though, he had fairly put his foot in it. The little milliner of Albemarle Street! Perhaps one day he might meet her under other conditions, in a place where his curiosity might experience a keener gratification, his inquisitorial nature receive licensed privilege to torture. (To be Continued.)